


The Way the Road Feels

by Fan_dango



Category: Panic! at the Disco, The Academy Is..., The Young Veins
Genre: M/M, Road Trip, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 11:43:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/686584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fan_dango/pseuds/Fan_dango
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon doesn’t feel the roads like Tom does. Jon doesn’t feel a lot like Tom does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way the Road Feels

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Mibba.com

Tom wears a tie while he drives and a smile while he sleeps.

Today it’s both, and Jon gets to watch him out of the rearview mirror with a quiet nostalgia of weeks (or was it months?) ago when they first left Chicago and never looked back.

Jon turns back to the road eventually.

“Break,” Tom says, hours later. Jon doesn’t feel the roads like Tom does. Jon doesn’t feel a lot like Tom does.

He pulls over at the next rest stop.

Tom’s hair is sticking up at his nape and he helps Jon into the back seat with a hand on his hip. The door handle broke off back in Des Moines. They never bothered to fix it.

“You gonna drive?” Jon asks, and his voice gives away the fatigue his body hasn’t caught up with yet.

Tom shakes his head, the blonde strands reflecting the street light like they're set alight. Jon turns away.

“Sleep,” Tom orders, and Jon can’t argue. He lets Jon lay on his chest, legs cramped up, folded underneath him. Jon’s gotten used to the spasms in his neck and the bruises from the centre console. Tom likes to point them out anyway.

Jon knows he won’t sleep with his head against Tom’s chest, but he tries, focusing until they are breathing in sync and Tom’s fingers grip his elbow. Cigarette smoke fills the cab and neither of them move to open a window. Tom doesn’t offer the cigarette. Jon doesn’t care.

“You ever miss home?” Tom whispers. Jon hums up to the roof of the car, his eyes closed against the cloudiness in the air and the smell of Tom’s deodorant. He can’t breathe. It feels sort of nice.

“I don’t,” Tom says, too quietly, and Jon stops. Their breathing falls out of time.

They've spoken about this.

“You know,” Tom insists, and maybe Jon should, but maybe, like the road, it hasn’t caught up with him yet.

“You know,” Tom says again, and Jon thinks they’re talking about two different things. Thinks it’s not just him, because Tom’s finger trails down his arm, burning.

There’s a long, silent pause and then Tom pulls Jon’s face to his and just. He kisses him.

He doesn’t pull away, just mumbles “Tom—” against his parted lips.

“Don’t.”

He hisses ‘Okay’ and lets Tom grab him behind the neck tightly, his fingers brushing the lobe of his ear.

Tom’s cigarette ashes into his hair, but he doesn’t move away, not until he’s stealing breath from Tom’s mouth and his hand has crept under his shirt.

Tom pulls back before Jon is nearly done with him.

“Sleep,” Tom says, and it doesn’t sound real to Jon, but he curls up closer to Tom anyway. He looks up and Tom’s eyes are still closed and his cigarette has burned down to the filter, white ash crushed into the fabric of the back seat, into the fabric of his tie.

He smiles into the darkness and Jon smiles back.


End file.
